


Le Teuer Papillion

by Freelance7



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Blood, Detectives, Drama, English, F/F, F/M, Feminism, Gore, History, Mystery, Post-World War II, Romance, Serial Killers, Sexism, Sexual Themes, Strong Language, Violence, authentic, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freelance7/pseuds/Freelance7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After solving many cases of prostitution, Inspector Marinette Dupain-Cheng is given what was thought to be a "simple homicide case". But when deaths of the same fashion keep happening throughout Paris, she is thrust into the more dangerous side of the City of Lights. Rated M for Graphic Depictions of Blood, Gore and Violence, Strong Language, and Sexual Themes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Alright, before we start anything, let me get this down on the table. It is so hard to find information about real French inspectors. Or a lot of other things about 1950s Paris. There probably weren't female inspectors. So let’s not worry how realistic I make it, but I will try to make it as authentic as it can possibly be. There will be limits, but I hope you enjoy either way. Also there won't be smut (sorry or not sorry?) I just can't write it and I may do like a fade to black but that will be it. There are sexual themes though. 
> 
> Anyway, on with the story!

 

 

Episode 1: Pilot

 

_“‘Women raised and educated exactly like men would work under the same conditions and for the same salaries; erotic freedom would be accepted by custom, but the sexual act would no longer be considered a remunerable "service"; women would be obliged to provide another livelihood for themselves; marriage would be based on a free engagement that the spouses could break when they wanted to; motherhood would be freely chosen—that is, birth control and abortion would be allowed—and in return all mothers and their children would be given the same rights; maternity leave would be paid for by the society that would have responsibility for the children, which does not mean that they would be taken from their parents but that they would not be abandoned to them.’”_

A sigh, almost of relief, followed the paragraph, as the young woman tossed a copy of _The Second Sex_ by Simone de Beauvoir back onto the table.

“Well, Mari?” Another young woman, probably the first woman’s friend, stared at her with raised eyebrows, awaiting her thoughts.

Mari pinched her nose, opening her eyes wide as her blue irises shined in the sunlight. “To be honest, Alya, I found the ideas to be...intriguing. Certainly, I would love to see them enacted. Paid maternity leave, the ability to divorce whenever, the same salaries as men. I found them to be enlightening, at the very least.”

Her friend arched an eyebrow. “But?”

“But...I have the feeling this woman is also raving about other things that don’t make sense. I mean...look, back in chapter...four, I think,” she said, grabbing the book and flipping through the pages, her eyes scanning the words before finding them, jabbing her finger at it, “Ah! She says housecleaning is   _‘_ _holding away death but also refusing life_ ’. What the hell does that mean? The refusing life part makes sense, but how is it holding away death?”

“Marin-”

“And wasn’t this the same woman who not only seduced her female students and sent them to another man, but also wanted to have the age of consent laws taken down?”

“But the book-”

“The book is good in most areas. I’ll admit that. But this... _maquerelle_...ugh...she disgusts me in some ways.”

“Marinette, could you please listen?”

She sighed, crossing her arms.“Sure...fine, go ahead.”

“I just thought it could enlighten your mind. You seemed to be having a lot of problems as an inspector.”

Marinette frowned at her friend. “Yes, I have problems. But nothing a book can help. It’s not a big deal. It’s just that I want a case that is actually interesting. I wanna be respected. I mostly get prostitution cases. Practically insulting, if you ask me.”

“When have the men cared?”

“There are some.”

_“Some.”_

“Yeah, just as there are _some_ women who are undesirables.”

“That may be true...but I mean…”

“Alya, can we switch the subject?”

“Ugh...sure. I haven’t been to your apartment in a while. How is Manon?”

Marinette smiled, her thin lips curving up. “She is fine. Still the happiest thing on earth whenever I see her. An energetic little bugger, though. I am surprised Mrs. Chamack can handle it all.”

“She had years to grow accustomed to it. As a sister to many siblings, I can attest to that.”

“Hmm.”

“How about your mother and father?”

“Last time I called them up, they were still doing great. I need to get back out there sometime. They are always worried about me and my job.”

“Worried their little girl will get hurt?” Alya asked, teasing.

“Exactly,” Marinette sighed, throwing her hair to the side as she looked out at Parc Kellermann, a park at the edge of the thirteenth arrondissement, watching the youthful couples giving pecks to each other on the benches, watching the children playing and laughing, their mother smiling at their fun.

Marinette had always enjoyed the company of children, finding their youth refreshing. Her parents were still waiting for her to find a man to marry and have children with. She keeps on telling them the same thing she always tells them.

_When I’m ready._

She can’t seem to find the right man.

Speaking of men…

“I should get back to work, thanks for talking with me,” she said, grabbing her small purse that was hanging from the chair and putting the thin strap over her shoulder, taking her hat before leaving.

“My pleasure, Mari. Show them how miraculous of an inspector you are!”

Marinette smirked, clicked her tongue, and aimed a finger gun at her. Alya returned the gesture, before waving her friend goodbye.

 

* * *

  


Marinette gazed up at the police department of Paris, her heart beating rapidly. She wasn’t nervous. She was scared.

Straightening her tie, pulling her trench coat closer around her body, and tipping her hat down were the things she usually did before pushing the door open, stepping in.

_Just gotta make it to my desk. There, I am safe._

She wasn’t five steps in before the first comment was thrown.

“Hey honey, what’s with the face? Smile.”

She kept her eyes to the ground. _Quarter of the way there,_ her mind kept track.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a skirt?”

_Damn them,_ she cursed the men as they kept on hurtling words. She could imagine them, smirking, smug. She wished she could do something about it.

“Put on some make up, it’d make you much prettier.”

Finally, she made it to the stairs, descending them down into the basement, where the files of many completed cases were lining the walls.

And in the back?

Her desk.

She leaned against a nearby wall, breathing heavily as she looked up the stairs. _It’s not easy,_ she thought to herself, _they just want me to quit...to admit defeat._

She simply shook her head. “They...are gonna have to try harder than that.”

Relaxed, she pushed herself off the wall, continuing until she reached her desk, turning on a lamp to illuminate the dusty old corner.

Their excuse for not giving her a desk with the other inspectors is that they “ran out of room”. She thinks it’s because they want her out of sight.

Of course, there were the few men here who were genuinely nice to her, most of them police officers. But they never interacted with her in front of the other guys, as to avoid chastisement. Nevertheless, she appreciated them.

The woman fell into her seat, taking off her coat and hat, sighing as she took one of the case files on her desk, opening it, her eyes scanning the contents.

“Wait...this one was already completed.” She remembered this one. It was like all the others. She found the pimp, called in backup, and shutdown the operation.

Lather.

Rinse.

Repeat.

It was the same for the most part. Rarely was there a change in the pattern, and even then it wasn’t a big change. Once there was a gunfight that lasted five seconds.

She just wished that there was a way to show she is a competent inspector. A way to prove herself.

After realizing all the files were of cases already done, she piled them up and put them away, cleaning her desk up.

As she pulled open a cabinet, tucking the file away in it, her ears picked up the sounds of footsteps coming downstairs.

Her head turned to see the captain of this division, Damocles, is what he liked to be called. He never gave his first name, which she found queer.

“Oh, hello, sir. I just finished cleaning up my desk,” she held her hands behind her back, giving the stout man a smile.

He nodded to her and held up a case file. “Would you mind if I start to make it dirty again?”

She chuckled, crossing her arms and holding a hand out for it. “I’ll just take it.”

He handed it over, and she opened it, her smile dissipating in an instant.

“Now, Marinette, I-”

“Another prostitution case, huh?”

“Inspector Dupain, please, can you listen?”

Marinette took a deep breath and leaned against the cabinet. “Go ahead. It’s not like I have any power.”

“Please don’t be like that,” he approached her desk, turning around and resting his hands on it, “I am sorry that you can’t get any of the better cases. The men take them all before I can even bring one to you. I appreciate what you have done here, really I do. Just...look, if you can do a good job on this case, I will do my best to get you a case tomorrow that is better than this.”

Marinette turned her head up, smirking and raising an eyebrow at him. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

She nodded, gesturing for him to go. “I’ll read it and be on my way.”

“Good,” he said in a simple tone before he made his way up the stairs, leaving the inspector to herself.

She waited until he was gone to walk back to her desk and read the file.

“A pimp named Gustave Bouvier in the 11th arrondissement...hmm...some information to go on: a name, a supposed place the pimp lives, and rumors,” she snapped it shut, “Guess I’ll have to ask around.”

She gathered her hat and coat, putting them back on and ascending the stairs, ignoring the foul remarks thrown her way as her mind was now focused on the case at hand.

Exiting the station, she walked to the parking lot, approaching her car, the cheapest one, a Citroen 2CV, an economy car her parents got for her when she was younger. It wasn’t in the best shape, but it worked.

Getting in, she started it up, hearing the music of Luis Mariano filtering through the speakers. She turned it down and began to drive to the 11th arrondissement, the supposed location of this illegal brothel already memorized in her head.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Marinette parked the car on the street the building was on, her eyes staring at it. The place looked like a regular bar from the outside. _Gustave’s Place_ , it was called. But then again, it was still daytime and once the night comes, Paris turns into a whole different world.

She pursed her lips, eyes glancing to the side to see a small cafe sitting across from it. _They might know something,_ she thought to herself, pushing her hat down before stepping out onto the sidewalk, a sudden burst of wind blowing back her black hair.

Her shoes tapped against the cement beneath them as they carried her to this cafe where there weren’t much people yet.

_Hopefully I can get some information before more come in,_ she thought as she pushed open the front door, a ring acknowledging her entrance.

A woman with a black wide brim hat sat in one corner of the room, nibbling on a cookie. Another man sat near the window, staring out of it like he was dreaming of something. It was fairly empty.

Marinette ignored them both, her focus on the man in front of her, manning the counter. He was much older than her, with wrinkles all over his face and a white mustache sitting on his lips.

He gave a weak smile as she approached him. “Welcome to the XY Cafe, mademoiselle. How may I help you?”

“Oh, nothing really.” She returned a grin and rested her arms on the counter, leaning in. Her voice lowered to a whisper, “I am just looking for information.”

His eyebrows raised. “I am afraid I have none.”

“About Gustave’s Place?” She tilted her head to the side to reveal the bar being straight across from the cafe.

“It’s a bar, nothing more or less.”

“But what is it at night?”

“At night?”

“Yes. I have rumors that state it’s more than just a bar.”

He was silent. “I know nothing about that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am su-”

All of a sudden, the woman from the corner walked up to the counter next to Marinette, the inspector unable to see her face as, she now realized, her hat had a black veil hanging from the brim all the way around, obstructing her face. With a black glove, she reached out and grabbed the man’s wrist, gentle as she placed something in his hand, her fingers making some movement, before nodding and exiting. Not a word was said.

In the man’s hand were several francs, paying for his service.

He put them aside and gestured for the inspector to leave. “Like I said, I know nothing.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, staring at the man for a moment before sighing and nodding. “If you insist. I will make my leave then.”

She turned around and began her exit. As she reached the door, the man spoke out, “Wait, mademoiselle!”

Marinette peered over her shoulder at the man, who ripped a small piece of paper in half and threw it away before gesturing for her to come back.

She raised her eyebrows, returning to the counter. “Yes?”

The man glanced from side to side, as if scared someone was listening, before he spoke again, “After ten o’clock, the bar closes. I live upstairs, so I get a good view of it. Two hours later, I see many women in dresses collect in an alley nearby before entering the bar, one by one. That...is all I know, I swear.”

Marinette, eyebrows still raised, nodded. “Every night?”

“Every night.”

She nodded once more. “Thank you, monsieur.”

With that, she exited the cafe, staring at the bar as she walked down the street.

In her head, she already had a plan.

 

* * *

 

 

**_That Night_ **

 

Due to the housing problems of Paris, there wasn’t much in the way of a good home for the young adults. Sometimes, young married couples still had to live with their parents, or in apartments that, for the most part, didn’t have their own bathroom or toilet. This had caused many health problems and deaths.

Luckily, Inspector Marinette Dupain Cheng wasn’t one of those. She was of the fifteen percent that had a single furnished room as their apartment, with running water and a bathroom.

The young woman was in the center of the room, strapping an RR-51 handgun to her right thigh. Once secured, she allowed the skirt of her red Chinese qipao that her mother gifted her to cover it from any who may be watching. A gold design of flowers and leaves fell down the left side of it, while the right side had a slit starting at the knee to expose everything below it, but not enough to reveal her gun. She was wearing black heels, earrings, and a scarlet red scarf to keep herself warm. Her hair was done up in a bun with bangs that framed her face well.

She looked over herself multiple times, to make sure she looked presentable. There can’t be one flaw, one visible thing that hinted she wasn’t a prostitute.

This was her first time going undercover, and she was nervous. _What if I screw up? What will they do to me? What if I can’t stop them from touching me?_

Immediately she sighed and pushed those thoughts away. _Need to focus on the case._

She gave one more look in the mirror before deeming herself a good looking prostitute.

Well...fake prostitute.

Once she was ready, she exited her apartment building and out into the cold Parisian night filled streets, turning her head side to side, looking down the sidewalk.

She walked to her car, getting in and starting it up.

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette parked her car down the street from the bar, so as to not look suspicious. The car shut its eyes as she pulled the key from the ignition, stepping out into the cold air once again, her heels clicking against the hard concrete sidewalk.

She could already see a group of prostitutes standing in the alleyway, a tall one standing out in the sidewalk, as if she was the one watching if the bar was open yet.

As Marinette approached the group, several of them glanced over to see the woman, looking her up and down, examining her. Sizing her up.

One of them, a blonde with dark brown eyes, smiled and nodded to her. “You. You look new.”

Marinette grinned and glanced down. “Yeah...I, uh...I am just using this to pay for my rent, since I lost my job an-”

“Woah, woah, no need for your life story. And don’t worry, this pays really well.” She leaned in, eyes scanning every part of Marinette.

“Hmm...are you Chinese?”

“Uh...half...chinese.”

“Ooh, a mixed breed, eh? Gustave loves those kinds of girls. You’ll fit in very easily.”

Marinette widened her eyes in surprise. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Just don’t be nervous and have fun.”

“Yeah...right...thanks.”

“Anytime.”

A whistle could be heard from the door, and the girl on watch gestured for the others. “It’s time.”

The girl who spoke to Marinette nodded to her. “Deep breath, uh...what’s your name?”

“Uh, Marinette.”

“Marinette, my name is Vivienne. Just take deep breaths and you will be fine.”

Marinette nodded and took a deep breath. “Right, okay. Thanks, Vivienne. Let’s do this.”

She continued to take deep breaths as she followed behind Vivienne, leaning to the side to look ahead. A man was looking the women up and down, then jerking his thumb, gesturing them inside, before the next woman stepped up.

As Marinette drew closer, she began to look herself over once more, hoping she’d be allowed in. _What would I do once I am in?_

As Vivienne stepped up to the plate, Marinette’s mind wrapped up it’s thought.

_I’ll just cross that bridge when I get there._

Vivienne was allowed in, and so Marinette went forward, standing in front of the man.

His eyes looked her up and down, observing her every detail. The inspector smiled, showing her pearly whites.

“Are you a new girl?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

Marinette held her hands behind her back. “Uh, yeah. A new girl. My name is Marinette.”

“Marinette…” He remained silent.

Suddenly, his hand shot out and gripped her chin, earning a gasp from the girl. He turned her head side to side.

“Mixed race...interesting. Go straight to Gustave. He likes to try out the new girls.”

“Uhm...who is he?”

“Just go to the back. You’ll know when you see him. Now go.”

He pushed her into the bar, the girl stumbling a bit but able to recover.

Her eyes lit up as she acknowledged the scene around her. There wasn’t one piece of furniture that didn’t have some form of sin occurring on it. Even the walls were pretty much lined with two individuals engaging in sexual activities.

Vivienne was talking to some guy, one of her hands creeping down to rub his leg.

Marinette took a deep breath, determined to see this through to the end. There was something about this place that just wasn’t sitting right with her.

Well...other than the prostitution.

She followed the directions the man up front gave her, walking past all the many different forms of debauchery going on while some music played in the back.

Marinette rounded a corner, hearing a lot of almost over exaggerated laughter.

And she knew what the man meant by “You’ll know when you see him”.

A man with a red beret sitting on a couch was smiling with girls surrounding him, beaming his bright yellow smile as he took a drag of his smoke. He wore a red suit with a black tie, making him stand out among everyone else.

He probably did it for that reason.

She took another deep breath and began to make her way towards him, trying to put on a sultry walk, to allure the man.

To say it got his attention would be an understatement. His eyes widened in excitement at her entrance.

“Ahh! Mademoiselle! The one with the pretty exotic look! Oh, you look extravagant! Utterly a beauty!”

Marinette faked a smile at his comments. “Thank you, monsieur.”

He gestured for the ladies to leave, which they did, before he reached out to grab Marinette’s hands, “I don’t think I have seen you around! You must be a new girl! What is your name?”

“Uh...M-Marinette, monsieur.”

“Marinette! What a lovely name! Please sit!” He pulled her onto the couch a little more forceful than she would’ve wanted, since she grunted as she hit the cushion.

With no hesitation, his hands were already on her thighs. “I say we get things started. I’d like to get to know you.” He said, a tone in his voice coming out, one of which she never wanted to hear.

Before his hands could slide up anymore, her hands came down to stop them. “Uh...m-may I use the bathroom first? I need to freshen up a bit.”

His eyes met hers, wide in surprise, but he nodded. “Of course, my beauty. Please, use my bathroom in my room upstairs.”

“Oh, you sure?”

“Yes, please. Go on. I’ll be waiting.”

She stood up. “Thank you, monsieur.”

Without waiting for anything else, she began on her way to the stairs, wrinkling her nose in disgust as his stench still lingered with her.

Her heels clicked as she ascended the stairs, slipping past people already getting to know each other. Up ahead, she saw the door to his bedroom. She reached out to push it open, closing it behind her.

It was a simple bedroom, but very messy. The bathroom was off to the side.

She immediately went to the bathroom, turning the sink on to wash her face, looking up in the mirror, she frowned and nodded.

“Let’s do this.”

She got to it right away, searching around his room for a good minute, trying to find any evidence of more than just prostitution on him. Because he probably would burn it if the police were called.

Marinette then noticed something out of the corner of her eye. A square outline in the ceiling.

_A hatch?_ She thought. Reaching up, she tried reaching for a button protruding from it.

But she was too short.

She looked around, hoping there was some item that could help her.

Off in the corner, she found a cane leaning against a wall. _Of course he has one._

Marinette picked it up and walked underneath the hatch, holding it up, the reach being long enough to press the button.

The hatch swung open, a ladder connected to it. She hopped up and grabbed the bottom rung, grasping the next rung to then reach into the attic, pulling her upper half into it.

Her eyes widened, the sight being one of disgust.

Children gathered around her, holding each other, scared to see the woman.

The inspector realized.

_Child prostitutes._

“D-don’t worry,” she said in as friendly a tone as she could, “I am here to rescue you. I just need you to wait a little bit more, I need to call the-”

“You ain’t calling nobody!” An angered voice shouted, and Marinette could feel fingers wrap around her ankles and pull her down, her body hitting the floor hard, earning a grunt from the girl as a figure appeared above her. They bent down and growled in her face. She could smell the smoke in their breath.

Gustave.

“You think you could just ruin my whole business? Huh? _Do you?_ ”

Marinette frowned and grabbed him by his shoulders, thrusting her head into his with a _thunk._

The pimp reeled back in pain, cursing as Marinette got up, holding her own head. _Maybe I shouldn’t have done that._

Recovering faster, she reached down and pulled out her gun. She was about to aim it at the man when he was already on her, grabbing the gun and wrenching it from her grasp. He threw it aside, hearing it clatter against the wall.

The pimp threw a punch, but Marinette was fast, pulling off her scarf and wrapping it around her arm, using her weight to pull him to the ground.

Raising her fist, she brought it down upon his face, raising it again only for him to catch it and grab her hair, throwing her at the wall.

A yelp escaped from her lips as her back slammed against it. She slid herself up the wall to her feet, taking her shoes off, as he pushed himself up, sneering at her.

Gustave went in to throw a right hook at her. She ducked underneath it, giving his gut a couple of quick punches before stepping back and snapping a kick up to his jaw, sending him flying into the air before hitting the ground hard.

As she approached his groaning form, he asked her, “Where’d you learn those moves? The Chinese?”

She giggled, shaking her head. “No,” she muttered, lifting her leg high up into the air, her toes pointing to the ceiling, “Ballet.”

With that, she brought her heel down onto his balls.

He screamed in pain as Marinette wasted no time nudging him onto his back. “Yeah, there you go, big boy, on your back,” she said, straddling him.

She grabbed her scarf on the floor and used it to tie his hands up. Reaching over to pick up her gun, she noticed a couple of men at the door, staring in with wide eyes.

Her eyes narrowed. She aimed the gun at them. “Get out now, or you’ll be joining big boy right here.”

The men scrambled to get out of the bar and the area.

Marinette had to keep watch on the pimp. So she called out, “Vivienne!”

She could just imagine the hesitation as the prostitute called back, “Yeah?”

“Call the cops! Tell them Inspector Marinette found something big!”

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette stared at the bar, now surrounded by the police, a blanket across her shoulders as the kids were being led out, on their way to being processed and, eventually, brought back to their parents while the prostitutes were lined up and talked to.

The inspector wore a wide smile. She was proud of what she did tonight, pulling the blanket closer around her body.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an officer walking up to her. She looked away, not wanting to hear another insult.

“Uh...excuse me? Miss...I mean, Inspector Dupain?”

She raised her eyebrows, and turned to look at the officer. “Nobody usually calls me that.”

He chuckled. “Really? Even though that’s your position?”

“Uh yeah. At least...the other inspectors don’t call me that.”

“Oh well...I was just gonna say...you did a great job tonight. Really. Who knows where those kids would be if you hadn’t found them.”

Marinette smiled, nodding to him. “Thank you.”

He nodded back. “We also found documents of other buildings that contain children. So...again good work. You should be doing a homicide case some day.”

She giggled. “I hope so.”

The officer nodded again before leaving her to her devices. She sat on top of the police car, smirking.

“Juleka this way! It’s over here!”

“Rose, just calm down for a bit! I don’t want to drop the camera!”

Marinette cocked an eyebrow, looking towards the source of the voices.

Suddenly, two figures exploded out from the nearby alley, a small blonde girl with a pixie haircut wearing a newsboy cap who skidded to a halt, while a taller black haired girl with a camera in her hands was following behind, being able to stop without skidding.

“We have to get this before the other newspapers do!”

“You’re so cute when you are panicky.”

The blonde looked around, her blue eyes settling on Marinette, a smile gracing her face. “Over there! Hey, Inspector!” She began running over.

Marinette stared at them with wide eyes, the one with black hair snapping a picture of the inspector.

“Would you mind if we asked you a few questions about what happened here?”

Marinette’s eyes switched from one girl to the other, surprised from their unexpected entrance and sudden questioning. But she smiled.

“Uh...sure, go ahead.”

 

* * *

 

 

From afar, a woman watched as the inspector was asked questions.

Her face was shielded by the veil hanging from the wide brim of her hat. She took a bite of the cookie in her hand.

“Well, Tikki? She looks like a good one to me.” A cacophonic voice asked from behind her back.

She smirked. “I think she is the one.”   



	2. Welcome To Homicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, I loved the reception, seriously it was pretty amazing! I will warn you, we may have had some disturbing themes in the first episode, but we are crossing into the territory of murder. And lemme tell you, these will be gruesome, this one may be a bit tame, but later on things will change. And I love detail. So, hope you enjoy!

 

**_Episode 2: Welcome to Homicide_ **

 

 

With the woman taking her key out of the ignition, the cars hummed its tune a few seconds longer before being snuffed out by its own innerworkings shutting themselves down. 

Marinette had her hair out of its bun, hanging loose now. She rested her chin on the wheel, sighing in relief as she finally escaped the questions of those reporters. They were nice people, but too energetic for one o’clock in the morning. 

She opened the door and stepped out, closing and locking her car before entering the building in front of her, ascending the stairs, to the second floor hallway. 

The inspector passed by the doors, most of the people behind them probably asleep, unaware of the accomplishments that this young lady have done. 

Though, one curious head poked out from an open door, her bright golden eyes widening at the sight of the young woman. 

_ There is no such thing as ‘too energetic for one o’clock in the morning’. Not for this apartment building. _

“Marinette!” She whispered, her little hand coming out to wave. 

The inspector returned with a smaller wave, crouching down next to the door. “Hello, Manon. What are you doing up? You should be getting some sleep.” 

“I couldn’t sleep, and I heard someone coming down the hall, so I wanted to check and see if it was you. You look pretty in that dress.” 

Marinette smiled. “Thank you, Manon. Well, go back to bed, then. I need some sleep as well, so we better both get to it.” 

“But I can’t.” She pouted her lips, giving the puppy eyes. 

And they would’ve worked on the woman. 

If she was still a teenager.

“Go to sleep, Manon. Or I will have you arrested,” Marinette joked, smirking. 

Manon couldn’t help but smile. “You can’t arrest me for that.” 

“I can. For disobeying my orders. Just go to bed. Trust me, you’re going to value it when you’re older.” 

“Hmm...alright. Will I see you tomorrow?” 

“Of course.” 

“Okay. Goodnight, Marinette.” 

“Goodnight Manon.” 

With that, the little girl closed the door, leaving Marinette in the empty hallway. Now that the silence surrounded her, the sounds of two people making love somehow became more evident. 

“New lovers,” she chalked it up to before standing up and heading down to the end of the hall, where her door was. 

She unlocked it and stepped past the threshold into her apartment, closing and locking the entrance behind her.

Kicking off her heels, throwing her scarf down, and pulling her gun holster off was her journey to the bed, falling upon the soft cushion that she never wanted to leave now that she has felt it’s warmth. 

While waiting for her mind to slip into unconsciousness, it began going over that day’s activities. 

Her first attempt at undercover worked perfectly. 

She stopped a prostitution ring. 

She saved children from a life of sex slavery. 

She earned the respect of the officers. 

Her face will end up in some newspaper, making it hard for the department to keep her a little secret anymore. 

As she felt her mind soon to be pulling her into dreams she will forget by morning, she smiled to herself before finally passing out.

* * *

 

**_Next Morning_ **

 

Marinette locked her door, the window near her shining upon her hair, making it look blue almost. 

Now dressed in her suit and coat, she sighed before turning and walking down the hall. On her way, she saw Ms. Chamack locking the door, Manon by her side, hopping from one foot to the other.

The little girl turned her head and saw the inspector. She smiled. “Good morning, Marinette!” She jumped up and down. 

Ms. Chamack chuckled and looked at Marinette. “Good morning, Ms. Dupain. Going to work?” 

She nodded. “Yep. You might read about my exploits in the paper soon. I am gonna have quite a day.” 

“Oh really? Well, good luck then.” 

“Thanks!” Marinette said before heading down to her car.

* * *

 

The doors to the department opened wide as the young woman entered, head turned down, prepared for the comments once again. 

“Hey, maybe you should try a skirt sometime?” 

Nothing more followed after that. 

Her head picked up, glancing about. A couple of inspectors with mugs of coffee in their hands, looking around as the officers had their hats off, pulled to their chests, staying silent. 

_ They found out what she did.  _

“Guys?” One of the male inspectors cocked an eyebrow. “Did you all just become deaf or something?” 

The officers remained silent in respect for the young inspector. Saving children goes a long way. 

She continued down to her office, pulling her coat and hat off to lay them on the chair. 

Turning the light on revealed a case file on her desk. The Gustave case. The girl smiled as she picked it up and walked over to one of the cabinets.

She pulled one open and tucked the case file in. 

_ There,  _ she thought,  _ nice and cozy.  _

She clapped her hands together, rubbing them, before heading back to her desk and sitting down, hanging her head back. She sighed in relief.  _ Everything seems to be turning up.  _

Just as that thought crossed her mind, the sounds of leather shoes clapping down the steps reached her ears. She stood up. 

Mr. Damocles was descending the stairs, eyes set on Marinette. “Inspector Dupain-Cheng, fantastic work last night. The whole department is talking about what you have done, if you haven’t noticed.” 

Marinette smirked, glancing down to see a file in his hands. 

Her heart picked up in speed. She was excited. 

“Thank you sir. Uhm...is that what I think it is?” 

He looked down at the file, nodding. “Why, yes it is,” he said, holding it out, “your very first homicide case, Inspector Dupain.” 

She giggled to herself as she took it, turning her back to him so that she could look at it. It seemed to be pretty barebones.

Her smile faltered as a certain detail didn’t sit well with her. 

“Sir,” she faced him, “the killer has already been caught.” 

Damocles nodded. “Indeed, he was at the crime scene when he was found.” 

“Then, uh, what’s the point?” She asked, her tone laced with venom.

“The big guys upstairs want an inspector on the case. They are practically forcing us to send one. So that it looks like we care.” 

Marinette frowned, slapping the file on her desk. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“Inspector, I am. You asked for a homicide case, and I have given you one.”

“I wanted one I could actually  _ solve! _ ” She shouted, throwing her arms out in frustration.

Damocles remained silent, allowing the young woman to get it all off.

She did rather quickly, releasing all of the heated air from her lips before putting her hands on her hips. 

“Fine. I’ll take it,” she muttered, looking at her captain, her eyes narrowed as she gestured for him to leave, “Just go. I need to read.” 

He gave a simple nod before he left. She waited until he was out of eyesight, then sat down, getting to reading the file. 

“Alright, let’s see. One Otis Menage, a zookeeper, killed last night at around one-thirty, according to the blood, in the 19th arrondissement, by one Kim Dislocoeur, an athlete of many sports. The killer has said nothing so far, and only rumors for motive.” 

There wasn’t much, since it was quite early. That means only one thing. 

“Gotta check it out for myself.”

* * *

 

The 19th arrondissement was definitely the most mixed of them all, as it contained many immigrants, from North Africa and other walks of life. This also meant it was one of the more run down districts. Not cared for much. 

Being a master detective in the vice of prostitution, Marinette could spot a good amount of young whores as she drove down one of the streets that turned the district into a grid. In fact, many of her prostitution cases took place here. 

However, she wasn’t here for prostitution.

She was here for a murder.

Police cars lined up the sidewalk, forcing her to drive a bit past the crime scene before being able to park. She turned her car off and stepped out, pulling her coat tighter around her body as the morning chill still lingered in the air. 

Approaching the crime scene, which was in an alleyway, she saw reporters trying to take pictures over the police officers guarding them away from it. Two of the said reporters stood out to her. 

In fact, as they turned their heads to see her, their eyes widened. 

“Inspector Dupain!” The young blonde pixie named Rose jumped and waved, other hand clamped on her hat to keep it on her head. The girl next to her, Juleka, snapped a picture of Marinette. 

“So you’re the inspector on this one?” The black haired woman asked. 

Marinette nodded, smiling to them. “Yeah. My first homicide case,” she said, slipping past the other reporters, or attempting to, as they began to take pictures of the woman, she approached one of the officers, “Inspector Dupain-Cheng, I am running this case.” 

The officer nodded and stepped aside, allowing her passage to the crime scene before blocking the entrance once she was in. 

“Good luck, Marinette!” She heard Rose cheer. 

As she walked away, the inspector gave her a simple wave of thanks. 

Her eyes looked onward, seeing officers standing around, some smoking, others talking. She ignored them and kept her sight on what looked to be a plump body covered by a white sheet, leaning against a brick wall. 

One of the officers at the scene was actually the one from last night, who had complimented her. He instantly recognized her, giving a slight smirk at her appearance. “They already got you in homicide, huh?” 

She grinned and held her hands out to either side of herself. “Like you said, I did a good job. Which reminds me, you never gave me your name.” 

“Oh...well, it’s Francois. Officer Francois Lachance.” 

“Well, Officer Lachance, care to tell me what we have here?” 

“Quite the gruesome way to go for this fellow,” he said, reaching out to pull the sheet down. 

Marinette’s eyes widened. A shiver crept down her spine. “That’s one way to put it.” 

The man was definitely an immigrant, his darker skin tone gave that away. And he looked to be in his late forties, early fifties. His brown hair was cut short, and connected to his full beard. 

And his brown eyes were peering upward, as if looking at the foreign object that had pierced his brain. 

An arrow penetrated through the skin of his jaw, the head of it sticking out the top, blood covering the fletching, no longer dripping as it stuck to the wooden shaft. His life had also drained from his wide open mouth since his face was locked in agony, dying the hair beneath his lips red, with extra blood leaking from his head, running down his face like raindrops. It surrounded him, and collected beneath him into a pool. 

The dark red liquid was something she needed to get used to. 

This was, after all, homicide. 

“I have never seen anything like it,” the officer said, arms crossed as he once again examined the body, “you’d have to hate this guy very much to muster the strength required for this amount of force.” 

Marinette’s eyes were glued to the scene, collecting every detail. She couldn’t seem to look away. It was pulling her in. 

_ Homicide is a whole different ball park,  _ she just realized. 

“Inspector.” Francois pulled the sheet over the man’s face, snapping the woman out of her trance. 

She looked at him, eyes flitting every which way, searching for the questions she wanted to ask. 

“Um,” With a shaky hand, she reached into her coat and pulled out a pencil and notepad, “Otis Menage. Zookeeper. A-anything else about him?” She took a deep breath. 

“About fifty-one. No next of kin. Said to be a very nice man. Very passionate about animals.” 

“And the, uh, suspect?” 

“Kim Dislocoeur? Also said to be very nice, and competitive. He is around twenty-seven, a man of many sports. Including-”

“Archery?” 

“Yeah.” 

Marinette scribbled what she heard down. “Motive?” 

She heard a sigh from the officer. “Not much. There are rumors of Otis threatening Kim at one point. But that doesn’t seem enough to murder a man.” 

“So the mystery isn’t who killed Otis. It’s why?”

“Exactly.”

“Did you ask the people who live in the surrounding buildings if they heard anything?” 

“We have. And they haven’t.” 

“Damn. Anything else? I need something to go on.” 

“Well, there is someone you can talk to.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Alix Kubdel. She is a jockey. Very well known in that world. He used to compete with her a lot. People began to think it was because they were in love.” 

“So we got a potential lover?” She asked, writing something down before putting the notepad and pencil back in her coat.

“Yeah. She is racing today at the Saint-Cloud Racecourse. You might be able to catch her if you are fast enough.” 

Marinette nodded. “I will. Send some officers out to both the victim’s and suspect’s homes. Have them search around. Look for any hints of malevolence. Also, get this body to the coroner” 

“On it.” 

“As for me,” she began, walking away from the officer, “I have a race to watch.”

* * *

 

The racecourse was lively since the race was just about to end right as Marinette arrived, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. People were screaming, cheering, shouting, and cursing, the latter caused by the loss of their bets. 

“Number seven, Alix Kubdel is in the lead!” A speaker nearby announced, ecstatic. Marinette smiled as a small jockey sped down the grass course. She could see the excitement and adrenaline in her body language as she passed the finish line, her fists shooting into the air as a collection of groans and cheers echoed throughout the stands as some men lost their money and others gained more. 

“And Alix Kubdel, number seven, is the winner, her first of the season! Let’s hope she can keep it up!” 

Marinette clapped a bit for the winner before she ran down, dodging past winners and losers of money, to get to the track. 

As she got close to the jockey, she shouted out. “Alix Kubdel!” 

The girl pulled off her helmet when she heard her name, her short pink hair getting some air to breathe. 

Her head turned to the inspector, blue eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, hello. I am sorry, I don’t do autographs. My writing sucks.”

Marinette shook her head. “No, no. I am an inspector from Paris. I need to talk to you.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Need? Now that’s a strong word, but okay. Can we do so as I bring my horse to the stable?”

“Sure.”

Alix nodded her thanks as she clicked her tongue, her boot nudging against the horse's ribs to continue its trot. They remained in silence for a few seconds, Marinette trying to figure out what to start with.

“That’s a beautiful horse you got there.” 

She smiled, reaching over to stroke the horse’s mane. “Oh, Chronos? Yeah, he is an Arabian. Thoroughbred, known to be...hot-blooded. Agile, speedy, and spirited. Fastest horse I have ever seen. I will probably have to make him a  stud soon, but I hope not too soon. So, what did you want to talk about, inspector?”

“Marinette. Dupain. Just call me Inspector Dupain.” 

“Alright. So what’s wrong?” 

“Do you know a Kim Dislocoeur?” 

“Know him? Pfft. I more than just know him. We’ve known each other for a long time as rivals and friends. Why?” 

“Well...at one-thirty in the morning today, he murdered a man.” 

Alix yanked on the reins, making the horse whinny in discomfort. “What?” Her eyes were wide, staring in disbelief. 

“Yeah. He is in custody.” 

“No,” she muttered, “no, it couldn’t have been him. He would’ve beaten him up, but the Kim I know would never murder. Never. I don’t care what evidence there is. Kim is not a murderer. He...he isn’t. It’s a complete mistake.”

“The coroner is checking the body as we speak. The arrow is being analyzed and I am sure it has his prints on it. His hands were covered in the blood of the man. There is no doubt that it was him. But, just to double check, is there anyone else that I can talk to about Kim?”

She covered her mouth and nodded her head in an instant, removing the hand from her lips. “Yes. Max Le Joueur. Kim’s best friend. He is a complete opposite almost of Kim, but they are like this,” she said, crossing her fingers. 

Marinette’s eyes lit up at the sound of a new lead. She nodded.

“May I have his address?”

* * *

 

_ The 6th arrondissement,  _ Marinette thought to herself, turning a corner onto a street. This specific district was a more pleasant one in the eyes of Parisians. Beautiful architecture and history aside, many intellectuals spend their lives here, spreading their ideas to others willing to listen, while the French Senate sits in this very district, discussing the going ons in politics.

Marinette parked her car outside of an apartment building, stepping out into the bright sunlight that still hung high in the sky, at its zenith. 

“Apartment number twenty-three,” she repeated the number to herself, over and over again, “Max Le Joueur.” 

Her feet carried her up the steps into the complex, stepping to the side as a mother and her child passed by to exit before continuing onward. 

Her shoes clapped as she ascended the stairs to the second floor, her hand grabbing the railing to turn and see the apartments lined along one wall like the cells of a prison. 

Wide blue eyes trailed along the numbers, until she reached the third door.  _ 23\.  _

The inspector raised a fist to rap her knuckles against the wood, hearing it echo about the empty hall for only a few seconds before the silence sucked it back in.

She felt like it was an hour, but it only was a minute before the door cracked open, revealing a dark skinned man with brown curly hair, his eyes looking through bifocals at the young woman. 

“Greetings,” he said simply.

“Uh, hello,” Marinette replied, scratching the back of her neck, “Are you Max Le Joueur?” 

“I am. Who are you and why do you ask?” 

“Oh, well, I am Inspector Dupain, and I came to just have a talk with you.” 

“About?” 

“Well...do you know Kim Dislocoeur?”

His eyes lit up at the familiar name. “I do. He is a good friend of mine. Why do you ask?” 

“I just want to ask a few questions about him.”

He nodded, glancing down at the ground in thought. “I have some tea brewing and I should get to it. Would you like to come in and wait while I get it?” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Come in? Uh, sure, I guess, thank you.” 

He nodded again and left the door open to her while he walked off to his kitchen, allowing her to step in. 

She knew she was in the sixth arrondissement as soon as she set foot in the room. Everywhere there was some object relating to the idea of existentialism. Pictures of people like Jean-Paul Sartre and Friedrich Nietzsche, books by Camus, Kafka, Eliot. It had a slight unsettling feel to it. 

“So,” she began, having to move a few books out of the way to sit down on a sofa, “I see you are very much into existentialism.” 

She heard a faint cough come from the kitchen as he steps out, swirling around tea in his cup with a spoon. “To be frank, inspector, Sartre hates that term. And to a degree,” he said, sitting down in a chair opposite to the sofa, “so do I.” 

Marinette shrugged. “Well, it’s the only thing I have heard it be called by. What would you call it?” 

Max stopped stirring the tea to look at Marinette. “I...would call it an idea.” 

“An idea?”

“A brilliant idea. The idea to choose your own development? That was simply life changing for me at the time. May I ask your opinion on the idea?” 

She placed a gentle hand on her chest as her eyes looked around at the various memorabilia. “I find it queer, to say the least. I don’t have much knowledge on it to really formulate an opinion. The only thing near to it that I have read was The Stranger by Albert Camus. It was an interesting, uh, maybe even intriguing, yet depressing book.” 

“Hmm, that is enlightening, I guess. So, inspector, why are you here? What is it about Kim that brought you to my residence?” 

She sighed. “Early this morning, Kim Dislocoeur murdered a man in cold blood with an arrow.” 

Max froze, eyes widening in an instant at the news. Soon, his hands began to shake, the spoon clinking against the cup. 

“Monsieur Joueur?” 

“No...no it can’t be possible. That’s not Kim. It can’t be him. That doesn’t sound like Kim. It’s impossible. Improbable.” 

The inspector nodded, pulling out a notepad and pencil. “When was the last time you saw him?” 

Max glanced up. “He was here last night. He left at...at around eleven o’clock.”

She wrote that down. “And do you know of one Otis Menage?” 

“Oh, um, the zookeeper?” 

“Yes. Do you know he threatened Kim once?” 

“I do. In fact, I was there when it happened. Kim isn’t...the best with animals. He likes to mess with them a lot. When they began to get angry, so did Otis, who threatened to hurt Kim if he didn’t stop. Kim got angered by it, but I was able to calm him down and get him out of the zoo before anything else happened. And after that, Kim quickly forgot it. He isn’t one to hold a grudge. If he had wanted to do something, he would’ve done it there at the zoo. That’s all there is to it.” 

She scribbled down her notes. “Mhm, and did he have his archery gear with him when he left?” 

“What? No, why?” 

“Because Kim thrust an arrow through the skull of Otis Menage. Just one lone arrow. Nothing else around him.” 

“Hmm, that is…quite strange and...and queer.” 

“It is. Now, is there anything else that might help this case? Small details?”

“Not that I could recall. My apologies, inspector.”

“Then I should make my leave,” Marinette said, getting up from her seat while putting her notepad and pencil away, “Thank you for your help.”

As she was heading towards the door, Max stood up. “Inspector.” 

She turned around to face him, eyebrow arched. “Yes, Monsieur Le Joueur?” 

He fidgeted a bit before putting his tea down and walking over to her. “It’s just...I know my best friend. And he would never do this. He isn’t capable of it. Just take that into account.” 

Marinette pursed her lips as her eyes glanced down at his shaking hands before glancing back up at him. “I am afraid I cannot promise anything. Have a pleasant evening, Monsieur Le Joueur.” 

With that, she closed the door for him without waiting for a reply, leaving her alone in the hall once again. 

The inspector didn’t move. She only stood there, her mind pondering the details of this horrific murder. 

_ I guess there is one last thing to do,  _ she thought to herself, pivoting on her heel and walking towards the stairs,  _ I gotta talk to the murderer himself. _

* * *

 

Pushing the doors open to the station, she immediately made her way to the front desk. “Can I have Kim Dislocoeur put in Interview Room One? I wish to question him.” 

The man arched his eyebrow at her, eyes flitting down the hall. “The suspect is already in Room Two. Inspector Bouchard said he was the lead on this case.” 

Marinette’s eyes widened.  _ Bouchard.  _  Her mind hissed at the name.

“Get Dislocoeur’s case delivered to Room Two. And for the record,  _ I _ am the lead on this case.” 

She wrinkled her nose in disgust before she set off down the hall, turning a corner to see some officers watching the interview through the one way mirror they had set up. One of them glanced over to see her. “Inspector?” 

“What the  _ fuck _ does he think he is doing?” She said, grabbing the door handle and wrenching it open, entering the room with a furious face on. 

Bouchard had his foot up on a chair, leaning out in front of the suspect with a wide grin. As the door opened, he glanced over his shoulder, his brown eyes acknowledging the inspector. He chuckled and picked up his hat, placing it on his slicked-back hair. “Oh? Inspector Dupain. I am sorry. I just remembered that he wasn’t my suspect. My apologies.” 

“Get. Out.” She ordered through gritted teeth, her fingers squeezing the handle so hard her knuckles turned white.

He held his hands up, imitating a surrender to the woman. “Alright, alright,” he smirked, walking over to her and leaning in close, “I was just roughing him up for ya.” 

With that, he left the inspector to her suspect. 

Just as she was about to close the door, an officer pushed against it, a hand with a file in it shooting past the gap left. “Case file for Inspector Dupain.” 

She was surprised by the speed at which they got the file, but she accepted it with a smile. “Thank you officer,” she said before closing the door. 

Opening the file, she glanced over at the man. The suspect. Kim Dislocoeur. He was young, and very well built, with black hair that went up in a sharp quiff, the ends dyed blonde. His brown eyes flitted up to hers from time to time, but for the most part stayed on the metal surface of the table he sat at. He reached up to scratch his chest a bit. 

Marinette looked at the contents in the file. “So, Kim Dislocoeur. Raised on a...farm, with a perfect family. You enjoyed running through the fields, and just running in general. Then you fell in love with different sports, trying to master them all. Interesting. You also have no prior infractions. Hm.” 

As she approached the table, Kim cocked an eyebrow at the file, scratching his chest again. “Um, wh-who are you?” 

She slapped the folder onto the table. “I am the actual inspector on the case. Inspector Bouchard was just messing around. At least, I hope he was.” 

His eyebrows raised. “Oh? I didn’t know they had a female on the force yet.” 

“Yeah...most people say that. But we are not here to talk about me. You are the topic of this conversation, Monsieur Dislocoeur,” she said, sitting down in front of him, “let’s get right to it. Why did you decide to murder Otis Menage? And why use an arrow, a knife would’ve been easier?” 

Kim frowned. “I told the guy before, I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t. You have the wrong guy.” He scratched his chest again. Marinette was starting to notice. 

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? You have a motive. He threatened your life once. Though you may have went a bit...overboard on the response.” 

“W-what? Okay, sure, I-I got threatened by him,” he itched his chest, “But that was a month ago. I had that past me. I didn’t kill him. And I definitely wouldn’t have killed him for a threat.” 

Marinette pursed her lips, nodding. “Sure. Sure. And it’s a low chance that the prints found on the arrow won’t be yours. I am sure it will be another person’s,” she chuckled to herself before resting her arm on the table, “Listen, Kim, you need to cooperate with us. Right now, you are sitting at twenty to thirty years for murder, maybe even the death penalty by guillotine. If you cooperate, the Assize court and magistrate may be softer on you, we may be able to knock it down to manslaughter, which is just fifteen years. I say you start working with us, or else we can’t help you.” 

He let out a groan of frustration, rubbing at his chest. “I  _ would  _ cooperate. I  _ would.  _ If I was guilty. But I am not guilty. And there is no way I am going down for something I didn’t commit!” He itched his chest once more. 

Marinette sat there, tapping her fingernails against the metal of the table, before pushing herself up to a standing position, somehow towering over the bigger man, staring into his eyes. “Monsieur Dislocoeur, I am going to give you a day to reconsider. If you don’t, then it is completely out of our hands. Understand?” 

Kim retracted his lips, exposing his teeth to the light hanging above as he once again scratched at his chest, this time more rough than usual.

Now she was curious. “What’s wrong?” She asked. 

He frowned once again. “What? Nothing. It’s just an itch.” 

“In the same exact spot? I doubt it.” She reached over and pulled the collar of his shirt down, “Let me take a look at-” 

Both of their eyes widened. There, on his chest, over his heart, was a brand mark, blackened skin burned to the point of permanence. Small, but pretty hard to miss. 

It was in the outline of a butterfly. 

Her eyes flitted to him. “Do you remember having this?” 

Kim returned the look. “No...I don’t. It just itched and-” 

She nodded, taking one last look at the brand mark before releasing his collar to pick up the case file and exiting the room, pointing to one of the officers. “You. Bring Monsieur Dislocoeur back to his cell. And get a doctor to check the burn mark on his chest soon.” 

“Yes, inspector.” The officer said before going in to retrieve the suspect. 

Her shoes clicked against the floor as she walked back to her office, her mind in a frenzy.  _ A brand mark? How did he get that?  _ She asked herself, descending the stairs down to her little corner of the department. 

She tossed the file on the desk and sat down, leaning back to close her eyes and think for a minute.  _ A butterfly? There must be some sort of symbolism surrounding that.  _

“Uhm...Inspector Dupain?” 

Her eyes snapped open to see an officer in front of her, holding an envelope in his hands. 

“Yes, officer?” 

He held out the envelope. “This letter was brought in. It has your name on it.” 

She reached out and took it, looking at it. “No return address. Did you happen to see the person who brought it in?” 

“No, I did not, Inspector. My apologies.” 

“Well, it’s fine. You may go.” She waved away the officer. 

When he was gone, she opened the envelope and dumped the contents of it onto her desk. 

Just a small piece of paper fell from it like a leaf. 

Marinette placed the envelope down and picked up the letter, turning it over to see some writing on the back. 

It was a poem. It read:

_ An athlete, a man of the menagerie _

_ The former, the master of archery, _

_ He gives new meaning to the term 'bullseye' _

_ With the mark on his chest of the butterfly. _

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That poem was done with the help of my friend insomniatictitan, so a big thanks to her. Well, that was chapter 2, where the true conflict has arisen. It will only get more dark and disturbing from here, I can promise you. Hope you aren’t too squeamish.
> 
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> Also, PLEASE comment. While a kudos, or a follow or a favorite is nice and all, a comment containing either praise or criticism help me out the most. They tell me what I am doing right or wrong and encourage me to continue writing. It means a lot.
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> So anyway, thank you for reading!
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> P.S. And yes France did still use the guillotine back then. They stopped in the eighties.


	3. Tikki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am sorry this came out so late. I have been busy and...well...also lazy. Sorry, but I just didn’t want to rush this. I like giving quality. Also, I apologize, but this will be a bit short and slow. Not because I am lazy, but it just fits the episode. Things are getting interesting. And trust me, it only gets worse...or better, depending on your perspective, from here. And this isn't rushed, this episode was meant to be kinda shorter than others. Anyway, enough of this. Let’s continue

 

**_Episode 3: Tikki_ **

 

_How? How? How?_

Her mind repeated the same question, over and over again, wrapping it around her brain, hoping some lobe will provide her the answer.

But none did.

Marinette sat there, staring at the poem in her hands, eyes wide in surprise. _How could they know of the burn mark?_

“Uhm excuse me...Inspector Dupain?” An officer descended a few of the steps, leaning downward until his face was visible to her.

His appearance dragged her back into reality. She blinked and looked over, cocking an eyebrow. “Yes, officer?”

“The captain would like you to come up to his office. He wants to know if you have any progress in the case.”

“Oh? When?”

“Now, preferably.”

She didn’t return a quick reply. Instead, she looked down at the poem gripped between her thumb and forefinger.

_Would this be progress?_ She asked herself, _It could just be nothing. I can’t have him thinking I will take everything as evidence. But this is pretty strange. Couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone knows._

“Will he be expecting you soon?”

Her head snapped up, nodding and standing up to grab her coat and hat. “Uh-uhm, yeah. Yeah I’ll be up in a minute.”

All he gave was a simple dip of his head in acknowledgement before heading back up the stairs.

She gave herself a few moments to collect herself, to keep her wild thoughts and theories down. Then she picked the poem off of the table and made her way upstairs.

Along the way, her mind was running with ways to explain this. _Hey sir, I think someone knows more about this case than we do because of this poem I got._ Yeah, that sounds pretty bad.

As she reached the top step to the second floor, she tipped her hat down as instinct, to mask her face from the arrogant inspectors that ran this floor, as well as the station. It wasn’t something she could stop. She’s been so used to doing it now, it’s second nature.

“Ah, look boys! It’s our lady detective, doing hard work on the case of the century!”

An eruption of laughter followed, with Marinette tipping her hat up to glare at the men, especially Bouchard, before reaching Damocles’ door, the threshold of which she stepped past, and closed it in a swift motion.

Damocles glanced up from his papers at the young inspector. “Ah, Inspector Dupain, please sit. I assume you’ve received my summons?”

She nodded and sat down in front of her boss. “Yes sir, I have. You wanted to know if I have made any progress.”

“Hm, yes. Have you?” He asked, resting his elbows on the desk.

She shrugged and held up her hand, the poem between her middle and fore finger. She reached out with it.

Damocles cocked an eyebrow at it. “What is this?”

“Just take it. Read it.”

The captain did so, his eyes scanning the contents of the poem, frowning as he reached the end. “What’s this about a mark?”

Marinette was quick to reply, “The suspect seems to have a brand mark of a butterfly on his chest. He was scratching it like crazy during my questioning. He has no idea how he got it, yet this person knows about it. Sir, I don’t think this case is what we think it is.”

He remained silent, glancing at Marinette from time to time as he contemplated. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, but this is definitely something to look into. Who gave this to you?”

“One of the officers brought it to me, saying it had my name on it. But no return address, no other name. The envelope is still down in the basement, if you want to have it checked out.”

The captain nodded, stroking his beard as he stood up and walked over to his door, opening it to poke his head out. “I need an officer to go down to the basement and retrieve the envelope on Inspector Dupain’s desk. Procure it and have it searched for fingerprints.”

“Yes sir,” she heard a voice reply.

“Good.” The captain muttered the simple statement, closing the door and turning to his subordinate, “Anything else you have on the case?”

“Nothing more than his friend, lover, and himself saying that he couldn’t have done it.”

“Hmm, interesting,” he remained silent, then spoke, “I believe you should take the rest of the day off. Get some rest. We can continue tomorrow.”

Immediately she frowned. “What? No. I still have so much to do, like see what the officers have found at the apartments, and Kim’s autopsy, and the coroner’s report, and-”

He held a hand up. “Ms. Dupain, please. All the reports will be on your desk tomorrow, completely untouched. I promise you.”

Marinette’s eyebrows raised. “Not even Bouchard?”

He smirked. “Not even Bouchard.”

The inspector crossed her arms, eyes scanning the room. Damocles kept a well maintained room, with awards and certificates lining the walls, showing his many achievements. His reasons to be in the position he is in now.

A slow, steady breath escaped from between her lips, being dragged out long before closing them and standing up. “Fine. Okay. I’ll go. Thank you, sir.” She made her way out, not waiting for her boss to respond.

As she opened the door, she could see Bouchard looking over, and readied herself for his next words.

“Goin’ somewhere, Miss Inspector?”

She closed the door behind her. “Yeah, home.”

“So soon?”

“Captain’s orders,” she said, making her way to the stairs.

“Oh. Well enjoy the rest of your day. Meanwhile, we are working our asses off.”

She stopped just before the first step down, looked over at her fellow inspector, and smiled. “Then how are you sitting?”

The frown of confusion only amused the woman more as she left him, bewildered, his mind still trying to decipher her words.

* * *

 

The sprawling sidewalks of Paris represented the hustle and bustle of this famous city. People off on jobs, taking their kids to or from school, or just going for a walk, the city never stopped moving, especially when the sun was still hanging in the sky.

The light of said sun shined off the Citroen 2CV’s decaying paint job, trying its best to make it look beautiful. Yet the old hunk of metal is far from being that.

It squeaked to a halt as Marinette set the gear into park by the sidewalk, releasing a sigh as she lied back in her seat, eyes closed, trying to rest her eyes, if only for a minute that felt like a few seconds.

Her wide blue eyes opened wide to see a cafe across the street, which was actually near her apartment building. A cafe she frequents so much, the people there practically know her on a first name basis. She was a regular there.

She glanced over at the hat in her passenger seat, scrunching her mouth into one corner before shaking her head, opening the door and stepping out into the descending sunlight.

Adjusting her coat, she closed the door and made her way across the street, picking up her walking speed so as to not stop any cars on their way to whatever aspect of their owner’s life was important to them at that current moment.

Marinette smiled at one of the servers as she opened the small gate to enter the outside area of the cafe, choosing one of the few tables available, letting her bag strap hang from it. Sitting down, she rested her elbow on the table and used it to support her head, a breath slipping past her lips to join with the atmosphere.

The server she smiled to, a young man, stepped up, nodding to her. “Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. It is a pleasure to see the lovely lady here again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

She chuckled. “It has, Roland. My job has recently taken a dive into a much...harsher world. Been busy.”

“Ah yes, I have read in the newspaper. That was quite courageous of you. Anyway, enough of that, what would you like to order?”

She flashed a smirk and shrugged. “Just a tea will do for now.”

“Of course, Mademoiselle. It shall arrive shortly.”

The man walked away, leaving Marinette alone, giving her time to think more on the case. _Everyone is saying that Kim didn’t do it. He couldn’t have possibly done it, according to them. Could that be correct, could Kim have not-_

“A tea, huh? I would’ve thought you were more of a coffee gal.”

With narrowed eyes, Marinette looked over her shoulder to see a familiar woman.

“You look annoyed. Or bewildered. Hmm,” the woman kept her back to her, which made things strange. But it wasn’t like she could see her face, it was hidden by the veil hanging from the wide black brim of her hat.

Marinette’s eyes widened.

“Bewildered...definitely,” the woman came to her own conclusion.

“You’re...that woman from the day before. The one who...you put something in that man’s sleeve. A note of some kind.”

“Oooh, a sharp eye on this one.”

“Why are you here?”

“Good question. I like this cafe.”

“That’s not the answer I am looking for. This can’t be a coincidence.”

“What would qualify as a coincidence. I am here, you came here. I say that’s a good coincidence.”

“But it’s not just a ‘good coincidence’.”

“Well...true.”

“So explain yourself, why are you here?”

“Such a demander. You’re not in the position to be making such orders.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, I am sure you have known already. Recent activities of yours have sparked an interest into a fire.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? My apologies. A conversation can go so many places. Well, I cannot give you my real name. No offense, but I like to keep everything more secretive than you detectives. You may, however, call me Tikki.”

“Tikki?”

“Don’t think too much on the name. You want to know more about me, yeah?”

“Well...kinda.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am glad you asked.”

“But I didn-”

“I am a collector of information, or...more of a gatherer of the commodity. Sometimes, I become a whistleblower to those who cannot speak with confidence. And right now...I am your ally.”

“Is that right?” She nodded to the server as her tea arrived.

“Yes. You see, I am that ‘unknown source’ in the papers you always read about. I have many connections, informants and sources, spread throughout our big city of Paris. I know everything that goes on in this place. Me...and my associate.”

“Where is this associate of yours?”

“Off on his own,” she replied, taking a bite of her cookie, “he is quite a strange one.”

“Look at yourself.”

“I may be queer, but I am not that strange, my dear Marinette.”

“Okay, but...why are you so interested in me? I am just some girl who is on some case.”

“Now you and I both know that is not true. You have only just realized that this case is much much more complicated than once thought, is that correct?”

Marinette was silent, looking down at her tea as it went cold. “How...how did you-”

“I told you, Marinette. I have eyes and ears everywhere. Those who are killers are not actually killers.”

“Then who was the killer? Who killed Otis?”

“Kim.”

Marinette had enough. She stood up from her seat and turned around to face Tikki, her voice rising slightly, “Are you playing with me?”

“Sit down, Marinette.”

“Are you?”

“Marinette...sit down. I will explain.”

Marinette stayed standing for a few seconds before releasing a heavy sigh and sitting back down. “Then please...explain.”

“Kim killed Otis, that is a definite. But...he wasn’t responsible. Or...he couldn’t be. Some facts just don’t add up. You noticed it yourself, yes? The branding, his friends, everything points to him not being the murderer, yet he murdered Otis. And my connections can’t get any farther than that, unfortunately. I hope you will be able to find out in time.”

“So you got nothing for me?”

“Not at the moment. But you shouldn’t rely on me for information. The job of an inspector is to find evidence for themselves. What would they say if you came to them with ‘a strange woman gave it to me’?”

Marinette bit her lip. She was right, how could she use the words of a stranger as evidence. That would be dismissed quick, and she’d probably be laughed at.

“But I will say this. I do not know who is responsible for the killings, but I am working my sources to the bone to find out. Anyway, I’d say this first meeting of ours was...quite successful. I hope our next will be just as great. Until then, I bid you adieu. Goodbye, my lovely little inspector.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, her head twisting around. “Wait-”

The woman was gone. The seat empty, and not a similar figure in sight. Tikki was nowhere to be seen.

The inspector turned back around, her eyes falling down to her cold tea. She reached out and grabbed it, holding it in her hands as she looked ahead, her mind scrambling with ideas and theories.

In one swig, she downed the liquid and put a few francs on the table before standing up, grabbing her bag, and walking away, the last thirty minutes still going in her mind over and over again.

The length driving back home felt longer than ever, since she was only in her brain at this moment. This woman spoke in almost riddles. Like everything was a trick question.

As she parked in front of her apartment building, she pulled the key out, hearing the car silence itself, and leaned back in her seat, staring ahead at the car in front of hers. Multiple times her lips parted and shut, something she does sometimes while in contemplation.

A sudden knock on her passenger door window caused her to jump, head snapping to the source of the sound to see a fuschia haired woman, looking in with a concerned face. “Marinette? You okay?”

The inspector stared at her for a second before nodding quickly. “Uh, yeah, yeah. I am fine,” she spoke in a high voice so that Ms. Chamack could hear her.

“I just got back from picking up Manon. Would you like to come up with us?”

Just hearing the girl’s name brought a smile to Marinette’s face, but it faltered slightly, and she shook her head. “I can’t. Not right now. My mind is abuzz and Manon, while I love her to death, won’t help.”

Ms. Chamack raised her eyebrows. “You sure everything’s alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah...yeah. I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”

“Anytime, Marinette.”

With that, the single mother left the inspector, leading her daughter up to their apartment.

After a few minutes, Marinette collected herself and exited her car, locking it before ascending the steps to the second floor and entering her apartment.

She made her way to the bed, pulling off her jacket and bag to drop them off the floor, kicking off her shoes before finally falling into bed facefirst, the pillow filling her entire vision.

A groan managed to escape through whatever crevice made itself known. Eventually the inspector turned herself over, in order for her blue eyes to stare at the ceiling.

Could she trust this new woman? Tikki? She seemed pretty trustworthy, yet also unwilling to trust the inspector herself. Not just that, but she was also shady. All these “connections” and “sources”. This “associate” of hers. It all seemed weird.

But now wasn’t the best time to figure all this out. If they meet up again, she ask more questions. Maybe get something out of the strange woman.

_Until then, I should just get some goddamn sleep._

And so, she shut her eyes, allowing unconsciousness to take her over into REM.

* * *

 

**_The Next Morning_ **

“Do I have to go today?”

“Do you want to come with me to work?”

“No…”

“Then yes.”

“Aww…” Manon’s eyes switched from her mother locking the door to down the hall, where a young woman was making her way over to them. The little girl gasped.

“Marinette!”

“Hey, Manon!” She smiled at the girl. “How was school yesterday?”

“Mmm, boring.”

“That’s good. That means it’s working.”

“But I don’t like it.”

“Hey, I didn’t get where I am today without school. It’s kinda necessary. Just enjoy your childhood while you still can. That includes school.”

“But I don’t like i-”

“I have places to go, so if you’re gonna stay here and be a broken record player, you can do it to your friends at school.”

“Can I come with you to your work? It’s probably more interesting than my mom’s.”

“Yes, while that may be true,” she said, glancing and mouthing ‘Sorry’ at Ms. Chamack, who shook her head and smiled, “It’s also filled with dangerous people, bad words, and weapons. Something a child your age shouldn’t experience.”

“But I can tak-”

“No. No you can’t. Now, if you don’t mind, I gotta go. Good luck through another grueling day of a safe educational experience.”

With that, ignoring Manon’s groaning and whining, Marinette went on her way down to her car to get to work.

As she turned the ignition on, the radio crackled to life in the middle of a news story. More specifically, yesterday’s murder.

They gave the specifics: the suspect, the victim, the cause of death.

But not the name or gender of the investigator.

And then they continued on with the rest of the news. Apparently some dog is lost.

Marinette grit her teeth and turned the volume down, gripping the wheel harder. She took a deep breath and shook her head.

“You should’ve known, Mari. Should’ve known. They always seem to not get the name. I am just...that forgettable.”

The turned the volume back up, which played a nice song by Jacqueline Francois. _Mademoiselle de Paris._ A favorite of her mother’s.

As she parked her car, she put it in park. Instead of exiting the car, she lied back in the car seat, closing her eyes and waiting for the song to end. Here, she could wait for a couple of minutes to end. It gave her peace as well as space to just think about things.

“She’s the spirit of spring in Paris!” She sung the last line with the artist, her eyes opening to see the outside world, just beyond her windshield.

And so she stepped out of the car, adjusting her hat before locking the car and making her way inside the station.

She only made it a few steps in when Damocles got in her way.

Marinette jumped slightly back, not expecting her captain to meet her right here.

“Good morning, sir,” she asked, bewildered.

“My apologies if I frightened you, inspector. But I am afraid to say we have another murder.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “So give it to one of the guys. I am already busy.”

“Just listen. The suspect has been found near the crime scene, like last time.” 

Her eyes widened. “What?”

* * *

 

**_Meanwhile…_ **

A clinking of ice in the small glass of American whiskey was the only sound that made itself known in the single room. A room that showcased the life of the man holding said glass.

The room had several photographs scattered about, of the man and his parents, when he was a child, and now.

The walls held several paintings. Expensive, and elegant. The man had quite an amazing taste in art.

And in the center of one wall, hanging from above his desk, was a medal. But not just any medal. A medal hung from a wide black silk moire ribbon and red stripes of various widths running down it. The medal itself was circular, struck from bronze. In the center contained the Cross of Lorraine, and underneath it a date in roman numerals.

_XVIII.VI.MCMXL._

_18.06.1940_

This was the French Resistance Medal, given for being active in France as a part of the rebellion during the Nazi invasion of Paris.

The only award this man received for sacrificing his life, young at the time, so that Paris would be free once again.

He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip of the liquid and sighing as he gulped it down. Whatever this man was thinking, it wasn’t happy thoughts.

And things were only about to get worse for him.

The door creaking open caught the attention of the man, but he didn’t bother looking. Instead, he kept his sights on the city of Paris.

In the door threshold stood an older woman, black hair tied into a bun, with her tired blue eyes staring at the former resistance fighter.

With a heavy sigh, and a readjustment of her glasses, she delivered the news.

“Monsieur Agreste, an issue has come up.”

The man turned his head to look at her, his paris green eyes sparkling in the sun, filled with worry over whatever she is talking about.

“Shall I get my coat?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some of you had been asking about Adrien, and I wasn’t putting him in here to appease anyone. This was when I planned to add him. Anyway, sorry for the long wait, and for the slow chapter. Next chapter, we’ll have some shit happening, I promise. 
> 
> Also, remember to comments. I appreciate them so much, and I love reading your guys’ thoughts on it. Hopefully I can get the next episode out sooner than before. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please remember to give a comment because I really need the critique, be it praise or criticism. I love noire and the research that goes into it! I don’t know how long this series will be, but I am hoping to keep the same, if not better, quality as this chapter for the rest of it. I am happy to answer any questions you may have. 
> 
> I would like to thank my friends insomniatictitan, titanwolfdog, Nakamatoo, Dorminchu, Ghastmine and Nani for helping me. You guys are the best!


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